Chapter Text
Title: Resolutions
Author: amaril
Email: kaurseeker@yahoo.co.uk
Website:
Permission to archive:
Fandom(s): Robin of Sherwood
Genre (general, hetero or slash): General
Pairing/Characters: Guy/OC, Marion/ Loxley
Rating:FRC
Summary:
Warnings:
Notes:
Acknowledgments: Richard Carpenter, GoldCrest ltd. DISCLAIMER; I don't own these characters, they are Richard Carpenter's versions of the Robin Hood legend, bought alive by a fantastic cast of actors.
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A/N; This is my attempt to tie up some of those loose plot strands left dangling when the fourth season was cancelled. My Resolution to the story.
I make no apologies for the own characters included. I felt Guy needed a different story than simply returning to his old job as steward to the Sheriff. So a few new characters were introduced for his benefit.
I do apologise for the death of certain canon characters however. That was the way the story unfolded as I wrote it. So be warned!
To avoid confusion Michael Praed's Robin is known as Loxley. Jason Connery's as Huntingdon or Robert. He is addressed directly as Robin by the outlaws.
In tribute to Robert Addie and John Abinieri, two members of a fine cast who bought this show to life for its many fans.
Thanks also to the members of various RoS sites around the web who have put up with and answered several odd queries of mine. Special thanks to my Beta-reader, Fayzalmoonbeam for her concrit and encouragement.
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Guy of Gisburne squeezed himself against the mud wall of the pit as a shower of vegetable peelings and human excrement splattered onto the floor beside him. He retched at the stink of the fetid mess and heard laughter above his head. He glowered up at the peasants gathered there, then slammed backward as a second load of noxious liquid was tipped into the hole.
"Too good for the pigs...thought we'd save it for you my Lord." The mob above him howled with laughter and began to trail away about their business. It was early and the hustle of a market place setting out its wares reached the knight. Gisburne cursed de Rainault. Where was the Sheriff? King John had called him to the great hall of Newark Castle two nights before, yet no-one had come to take Gisburne out of the town's crude version of an oubliette. He felt a thrill of fear touch him. De Rainault could easily afford both fines set by the King, but what if he decided not to pay Gisburne's?
I saved his life, Gisburne thought to himself, but he knew that would count for little in his favour. He remembered the glint of the upraised blade in the torches of Grimstone's great hall as Grendal's master pulled a dagger from the mouth of the beast he worshipped.
"Gulnar grants you the privilige."
De Rainault's eyes had never left his. There was no fear there and Gisburne found that he could not do it; could not butcher a nobleman with a madman's knife. Three times that day he held de Rainault's life balanced on a blade. Three times he had chosen not to draw blood. Now, for the first time, he wondered if he'd made the right choice.
Deep in Sherwood Forest Will Scathlock threw himself down on the muddy banks of a stream and drank deeply. Beside him Nasir eyed the trees warily until Scathlock had finished, then cupped water into his own mouth. The two settled wearily in the clearing keeping their weapons to hand.
It had been over three weeks since Marion had entered Halstead Priory and refused to leave. Nearly two weeks since Robert had left them with the promise to meet soon in Sherwood. Nothing had been seen of him since.
Nasir scrabbled amongst the humus of the forest floor pulling out several large stones. These he arranged in a rough circle near Will's feet. As Nasir bought out his tinder box Will dragged himself up with a sigh and searched the area for dry wood, placing small twigs and pieces of bark into the makeshift fireplace. The Saracen blew on the sparks, coaxing the small fire into life. Placing a stack of moss covered branches within easy reach Will slumped back into his crosslegged position, holding his hands close to the flames.
Nasir whipped around just as voice boomed across to them.
"Bring our own dinner then shall we, Scarlet?"
Will grinned at Little John of Hathersage. In one hand the huge, bearded man dangled two dead hares by the ears.
"As long as it's not bloody venison," said Will with a laugh.
"The king has donated this for your pleasure." John gave a theatrical wave behind him and a white faced boy with red hair pushed his way past carrying a pheasant and a bag stuffed with green leaves. He waved the bird in the air, iridescent plummage catching the light. Will got up and took it from him.
"Mind if I keep the feathers for my pillow?"
Much the Miller's son looked faintly puzzled. "You don't use a pillow, Will."
Will Scarlet gave the lad a mock clout around the head, plumped himself back down by the fire and began plucking the pheasant.
"What took you so long?" he said.
John took a seat opposite him, and pulled out a metal blade embedded in a wooden handle. He cut the four paws from the first carcass and began pulling the fur away from the the wiry body.
"Ran into de Rainault's men. He's back from Newark. Seems the King charged him a fortune for losing Robin," John said as he worked.
"We lost 'em easy enough though," added Much.
"Aye, ran 'em a right dance we did." John grinned at the thought of the Sheriff's men still thrashing around the forest looking for them, then he sobered. "There's no food in the villages; there are lads clamouring to join us from all over."
Will spat in the fire making it hiss and crackle. "Aye, John, we know how well that always works out."
"What are the four of us going to do when Robin gets back? We need more men," John said, not meeting the other man's eyes.
"Those bastards always run away and leave us in the shit." Will finished plucking the pheasant and pulled out his own rough knife to gut it, pulling its entrails out through a slit in the stomach.
"It'll be different this time. Their families are all suffering...starving."
"Everytime, John!" Will glared at him, waving his knife in the air for emphasis. "Ungrateful soddin' peasants they are." He took the carcass downstream to wash it and came back looking thoughtful. "You didn't mention Gisburne."
"I was saving the best 'til last," John said. "De Rainault didn't pay Gisburne's fine. He's sitting in a pit in the middle of Newark with shit raining down on his head."
The four outlaws chuckled to themselves as they finished preparing the first decent meal of several days.
Gisburne jerked awake. Moonlight picked out chips of flint embedded in the steep sides of the pit and he cursed as he realised that his long legs had stretched into the pile of effluence whilst he slept. There was a scraping noise above him and shadows flitted over the hole.
"Who's there?" he shouted. "Who are you?" No point in dying quietly, he thought to himself.
The legs of a crude wooden ladder appeared through the hole as it was manhandled into the pit. Before it touched the ground Gisburne had his foot on the bottom rung and pulled himself up into the cold night air. Any hopes he had of knocking out would be assassins died as his eyes came up level with an armed guard pointing crossbows at his chest. Their surcoats bore an insignia that he didn't recognise.
A young man stepped forward, tall and dark haired, his grey eyes full of curiousity.
"You reek," he said.
Gisburne looked down at the excrement staining his cloak, vegetable matter embedded deep in the rings of the rusted mail he'd bought from a soldier in the castle with the last of his gold.
"It'll wash," he said grimly. "Do I live or die?"
Amusement lighted the young man's eyes. "An unknown benefactor has paid your ransom. I was sent to set you free."
"Was it de Rainault?"
"De Rainault left two days ago muttering that he was a bankrupt." The young man took a step nearer as if to offer his hand, then recoiled at the stench. "I am Arthur de Verrier, squire to the house of Chambray."
"Sir Guy of Gisburne, steward to the High Sheriff of Nottingham the last time I breathed fresh air."
"My home is not far from here, may I offer you some refreshment...and perhaps a bath?"
"I cannot pay you anything," Gisburne said ungraciously.
A grin broke across the squire's face. "I'll take the task on as a favour to mankind."